


heart on my chest

by Hinn_Raven



Series: Bitter Pill [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Bad Future, Dark, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Second Person, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Bitter Pill AU] This is how you lose your husband, Dexter Grif.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart on my chest

**Author's Note:**

> Bitter Pill is now invading the Angst War! Anon asked for Grif losing his husband, and I’m only too happy to deliver.

You start to loose Simmons on the day they kill Sarge.

You all watch it televised, and the world seems to spin around as it happens, and you have to leave, because _fuck_ , Sarge is dead, and you’re still alive, and somehow that seems almost wrong. Sarge is turning in his grave somewhere— _fuck_.

You turn to find Simmons, but Simmons isn’t there. He didn’t follow you.

You learn later he went to get the bodies with Carolina, and you forgive him, but when you think back later, you know that’s the start. That’s where it begins.

Things change after Sarge dies. Things always change too fucking often lately. First it was Tucker, then it was Wash losing his goddamn eye, then it was Church, and now Sarge.

You miss the fucking canyon every day. At least things made sense in the canyon.

Donut starts to work intelligence—and isn’t that a fucking joke, once upon a time. The fucking rookie who thought Caboose was a general is now a spy, leaving on missions and coming back with the information you so desperately need, the shit that keeps you all alive.

You and Simmons learn tactics together, reading the books that Carolina gives you and playing chess until three in the morning, trying to figure out what it all _means_. You fall asleep next to each other at night, limbs crossing, your headon his chest and his chin digging into your shoulder, and you pretend things are okay sometimes.

You’re better at it than Simmons, and Simmons sulks about it in a way that makes you almost laugh, but Simmons starts learning to use a sword, and _shit_ that reminds you of Tucker, and you almost can’t look at him that first day when you see him use it, but then you make yourself watch, because, fuck, this is going to keep him alive, you might as well appreciate it.

The blows keep coming, and you fucking hate this planet with every inch of your body, but you hate Charon and Hargrove more, because he’s so _fucked up_. You fight Doc in the forest, and you hold Donut—your fucking brother in all the ways that matter at this point, and you’ll admit it because what’s the _point_ of not, when the world is hell and you try not to think about Kai, because if you think about Kai you’ll shatter to pieces—you hold Donut as he cries, because it’s not _right_ what they did to Doc, even though you don’t know what they did, exactly.

Then Kimball dies, and Carolina has to take over, and you wonder how long it will be before she dies, because everyone who’s a leader dies. You tell her this one late night, a bottle of moonshine you stole from a recruit, and she laughs and agrees, and you can pretend the circles under both of your eyes are from the alcohol instead of the nightmares.

You train more soldiers—less and less of them every day, most of them just as bitter and angry as you are. Bitters is gone now, and you find that most days, you can’t even blame him. If it weren’t for Simmons, you think you’d have walked too. Maybe you would have walked before you even got to this planet.

You don’t even remember marrying Simmons, that’s the worst part. You think it happens, but it’s not legal or anything. But at some point he becomes your husband and you become his, and everyone just agrees on it. There might have been a ceremony, but if it happened, it was on a night where you drink themselves so stupid you can’t remember anything. A rare night. A good night.

Then Wash looses an eye, and then you fucking lose Caboose, and then Washington walks away, and, okay, you’re _totally_ blaming him. That self-pitying asshole thinks he’s the only one who’s hurting? Fuck him. You don’t need him anyway. You never did. Fucking Blue.

You realize he’s the last one.

Red Team won after all.

You think Sarge might find some twisted glee in that, somewhere. Laughing and boasting, even as you bury Caboose, and isn’t that just fucked up?

You wonder if it would be easier if you just didn’t feel anything. But then Simmons clings to you and sobs, and you hold him and you throw that thought away.

The years go by and the hits keep coming, and every day you wake up next to Simmons and you think, every day, _Today’s the day I lose him_.

You don’t get to keep good things. You learned that years ago.

You’ll never admit it, but you think, deep in your bones, that you’ll be the last one to die. That you’ll bury all the others, the last one left. Maybe Carolina will be with you, or Wash. You’re alike, the three of you. Everyone around you dies, and you keep living.

You kiss Simmons one morning, and you put on your armor, and you go to fight.

Seeing Felix with that fucking sword is still a blow after all these years. He’s talking again, and you want to mute your audio so you don’t have to _listen_. He’s talking about Tucker again; he usually doesn’t bother if Wash isn’t here, but he’s in a mood today, it seems, and fuck, he’s getting too close, that’s not good.  

Simmons has his sword out, and they’re fighting, blades colliding, and you take a deep breath and you signal Simmons to move back, and he does, because you two work together like clockwork, you know each other, you know how this goes, and Donut is there, and he’s throwing a grenade, and you’re grinning, because _yes_ , this one might actually work out.

And then there’s the gunshot, and Felix is laughing, and you hear Simmons scream.

This is how you lose your husband, Dexter Grif.

He’s holding you, and he’s trying to tell you to stay with him, babbling and crying and he keeps yelling—for Sarge, for Grey, for Wash, for _anyone_. He’s holding you, and you are dying, and you know this in your bones, and you hate it, but a part of you is content, because you won’t see Simmons’ funeral after all. You won’t have to be the one to bury him.

This is how you lose him—his helmet is off, and he presses a shaking kiss to your forehead, and even as you die, you see something harden in his eyes, turning them cold.

You look up at him, and you wonder what he’s going to become.


End file.
